Lost & Found
by SingleHearts
Summary: "What are you?" He finally managed to ask. "An animal." She stayed quiet for a moment but before Stiles could ask what kind of animal she replied, "A coyote."


**Yeah for all those who follow my fics, you can hate me for starting another one. *sigh* I suck I know. Hope you like the start of this one though. **

**REVIEW PLEASE! The more you review the more i feel inspired to continue, seriously. It is like vitamins. Thank you and Happy New Years! =)**

He threw his keys on the table and headed for the fridge; his throat was dry and his mouth parched. He found the almost empty gallon of orange juice hidden at the back of the fridge and gulped it all down—not caring to dispense of the liquid in a cup first. He took three steps and found himself in his tiny living room, picking up the control from the floor and turning on his very old television.

The old contraption flickered on directly to the afternoon news and he flopped down on his second hand couch. There had been a recent robbery downtown at a thrift book shop. The windows to the store had been shattered and the thief had bagged up some pretty rare invaluable books—not even first editions. "Heh these dumbasses keep getting stupider by the year." The news after that went onto unimportant matters such as the crazy holiday shopping deals and sales, so he took out his phone instead and googled up last week's bookstore robbery—suddenly remembering about it. It was weird; there had been recently three robberies in the city, all involving books and antique bookstores. The weirdest part was the thief, who never stole anything expensive and never bothered to visit the cash register in his little expeditions.

He was beginning to google each individual store when he heard a noise coming from his bathroom. He whipped his head around, staring at his bathroom door with questioning eyes; he was waiting for the room to make another sound. In less than five seconds the sound of something heavy hitting the floor erupted from the bathroom. Stiles jumped over his couch and reached out for his metal baseball bat lying by the entrance to his bedroom.

He tightened his grip on his only weapon, licking his lips and trying hard at preventing his heart from beating like a drumroll. He didn't ask "who's there?" like they usually did in the overrated Hollywood movies—even though he was itching to do it, adding a fuck in there for personalization. Instead he walked as quietly as humanly possible towards his tiny bathroom and with a slightly trembling hand reached for the doorknob and twisted.

Stiles swung the door open and jumped at the doorway, ready to attack at whoever or whatever was in the room. He had imagined coming face to face with a huge predator, particularly one with fangs, red eyes and bloody claws. Yet, he never imagined staring right into a pair of big brown eyes hidden beneath a tangle of light brown hair. His heart was still hammering in his chest, but he let his arms turn slowly limp at the sight of the girl laying startled on his dirty bathroom floor.

He let his bat hit the floor, hanging loosely in his hand as he produced the following words, "What the hell?" The following made him stumble a little backwards, regaining his grip on his dear old bat. The girl growled, she growled at him without moving an inch from the floor. Well, she tried, but fell weakly back down onto the floor. After 2 years of being animal free he found himself feeling like he had come face to face with some injured wild animal. Stiles stepped into the tiny room again, outstretching his free hand while bending his knees slightly. "Okay, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." _What the fuck was he doing?!_ The point was that _she_ could hurt _him_. _She _was the one who had managed to break into _his _apartment, the one who looked like some wild person with wild eyes and wild hair; the one that looked like she hadn't bathed in weeks and was possibly raised by a pack of wolves. _Wolves_; _Holy Shit! _This chick could be a fucking werewolf and here he was, telling her that _she_ shouldn't worry about getting hurt by _him_—the human. He should call the police, _no_ he should call Scott. He should get out of this room, lock the door and then call Scott. She growled again when he got a little too close and Stiles was about to make a run for it when he heard her whimper.

Stiles wasn't the type to feel sympathy for supernatural creatures that didn't belong in his pack. Yet, when he heard her whimper, something in his chest tightened and he couldn't carry on with his plan. He ran his long skinny fingers through his disheveled hair and took in a deep breath biting hard on his bottom lip. He was going to kick himself for this later, _if_ he didn't die within the next few minutes. Stiles laid his bat on the floor, squatting down in the process and putting both his palms up. "Hey, it's okay. Let me just help you. It looks like your hurt." He searched for her eyes and found they were guarding him carefully.

She looked a little more frightened than him, completely vulnerable. He moved in closer to her and she flinched this time without growling. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay. I promise." She looked right into his eyes for a lingering moment and Stiles felt like he was being examined, as if to find out if he was made out of lies or if he could be trusted. Apparently he had passed the test because she let her head fall gently onto the floor, closing her eyes and curling tighter in on herself. Stiles stayed looking at her pained expression for just a little longer before getting closer to her.

He licked his lips nervously, thinking about a hundred different scenarios before he let his hand hover a few inches over her trembling body. Now that he was this close to her, he had no clue as to what to do. He licked his bottom lip and told himself that he just needed to find any signs of a surface injury first, if there was an injury. He looked her up and down but with her layers of clothes he couldn't see anything. He turned to look at her face and her lids were still closed, "Okay," he whispered more to himself, and then very cautiously reached for her forearms that were pressed tightly around her stomach. The girl flinched again but loosened her grip, never opening her eyes. She let her arms fall limp and Stiles slowly turned her flat on her back. She winced and whimpered again; Stiles bit the inside of his lip. He didn't know why he felt a sense of panic and pain just looking at her, but he did and it made his hands tremble even more.

He unzipped her jacket carefully, only to find another zipper underneath from her green hoodie and his shaky fingers set out to work again. This was so not the time to be feeling a sense of heat-rush but the boy couldn't help it. He could feel the rising of her chest under his fingers as he unzipped the fabric and his throat suddenly felt dry. His eyes had to examine inch by inch as he unveiled her, in order to find any signs of blood or injury. But instead he found himself unveiling hidden curves that had been masked by thick loose fabric and it made his face warm. He had still yet to find any signs of blood by the time he was finished with her hoodie, so he went on to unbutton her plaid shirt. This time the fabric lay so close to her body that Stiles' clumsy fingers found it harder to do its task. He fumbled a lot with the buttons over her chest and let out a sigh of relief when he found a tank top underneath the shirt, because he so didn't want to be the pervert in a dire situation like this. He quickly finished with the rest of the buttons and opened her shirt, finding blood red all over her white tank top.

Stiles began to panic a little at the sight of so much blood on a living girl sprawled on his bathroom floor, but he quickly recovered himself lifting the tank top carefully to look at the wound more closely. It was a nasty gash, he still couldn't figure out if the injury went deep, there was too much blood all around. Yet he noticed that the injury didn't extend that long and he figured it was done by a pocket knife. It was recent, recent enough for a werewolf to have the wound healed by now. He turned to look at her once again and this time she was looking at him as well, with questioning eyes. Suddenly he wasn't so sure if this girl was supernatural at all. He quickly got up, looking for his first aid kit under the sink, and cursed himself when he found no peroxide so he ran to the kitchen, opening and slamming door cabinets until he found a full Moonshine bottle he had bought last Christmas just for kicks. He had only opened that bottle once and never dared to open it again, that is, until now. He picked up a dirty t-shirt lying on the coach on his way back to the bathroom.

"This is going to sting, okay? But I need to put in on you or else it might get infected." Again, what the fuck was he doing? He should call a freaking ambulance instead. They would take care of her and if her wound does get infected or she dies, it wouldn't be his freaking problem. He was just about to pour the alcohol when his thoughts stopped him and he decided to put the bottle down instead. He was going to call for help; he was going to call an ambulance like a normal civilian would do. She must have seen the uncertainty in his eyes or a hint of fear because she suddenly grabbed him by the wrist and he whipped his thinking eyes onto hers. She looked at him with wide wild eyes and Stiles wouldn't have needed words to understand her desperation but she produced them nonetheless. "Please," it is all she said and it was enough for Stiles' plans to falter again. He nodded, and she let her lids fall closed again leaving him a little dumbstruck. He clutched onto the bottle once again and pursed his lips getting ready for the guaranteed pain, as if he was the one with the open wound. He poured the stinging liquid directly on her open flesh and the girl grunted and cried out, curling in again like a stabbed worm. He reflexively reached out to grab her upper arm in some sort of comforting gesture and the girl relaxed against his touch with a shudder.

He quickly got to work, cleaning the wound and blood away with his t-shirt and cool water. The more of the sticky blood he cleared away the more he relaxed. Thankfully, the gash wasn't deep and it didn't need stitching. Stiles almost clasped his hands together in gratitude because he so didn't want to stitch anybody up. Needles, in itself, were horrible, having to pull a thread through skin with the help of a needle, forget about it. The mere mental image of it all made him nauseous. He managed to wrap the wound with the help of the girl, but he still knew she needed real medical attention. She still looked kind of pale, a little less shaken but still weak.

By the time he was done cleaning and clearing everything away the girl had fallen asleep. Her breathing came in shallow inhales and exhales and Stiles found himself sitting against the wall observing her. She looked a little more at ease, but her eyebrows furrowed every once in a while creating small crease in the center of her forehead. He wanted to reach out and press his finger gently against the center of her brows in order to relax them. She didn't look any older than him, they were probably about the same age and this realization made him knit his brows. Her face was dirty but she had long thick lashes and Stiles knew that if it weren't for the dirt, her skin would be glowing right now. Her lips were plumb and they didn't look exactly soft but Stiles could imagine them being warm and nice. He sighed running his fingers through his hair again. He couldn't find it in himself to call an ambulance or the police. Something in his guts told him this girl wasn't 100% human. He should call Scott, he should definitely call Scott. But he also couldn't find it in himself to do that either. "Think Stiles, think," and then all of a sudden out of the blue it dumped on him, he had wolfs bane in his apartment, all over his apartment—hidden in random corners and compartments.

He quickly got up to his feet, heading towards the toilet. He lifted the lid of the tank and reached in to grab a little plastic bag. He pulled it out and ran towards the kitchen grabbing a brown paper bag and dumping the little plastic bag inside. He opened the fridge and took out his stash of wolfs bane and then headed for the table, un-taping one from underneath. He had some more hidden in a coffee container in one of his cabinets; he was throwing everything in the brown paper bag with such hurriedness. He ran into his living room stumbling onto the coach, and dug his hands under the cushions seats pulling out three small plastic bags. All he needed was to clear his room, so he crawled over his old coach towards his bedroom and slid the slide doors open. His eyes grew wide when he saw his room, the place was completely trashed. His sheets and covers were all over the place, his mattress flipped over. His clothes—dirty and clean—were sprawled all over the place. The girl had been looking for something, and here he was helping her instead of throwing her out. But what could she want that Stiles did or didn't have? He had no money or precious jewelry especially weaponry. The only thing he had that was quite valuable and rare was his...books. "Shit." _The Bestiary._ He had a copy of the Bestiary. Lydia had kept the original and had made two extra copies, one for Scott and one for him, after they had all parted ways.

Panic ensued and he ran towards the book's hiding spot with shaky knees. It was hidden in back of his wardrobe and to his lucky relief it was still there, intact. He let out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding and flopped down onto the floor. He rested his head against the bed and inhaled deeply, that is when he smelt it. He kept the damn thing in plastic little bags because it did have a strong smell that he personally wasn't very fond of. He looked down towards the floor and saw a pile of it on the rug, the plastic bag ripped open on the side. The girl must have gotten it and that is why she wasn't healing, who knew if she had even gone as far as to eat some. But wouldn't she know what it was, wouldn't she have smelt it right when she got in? Deaton had always told them to place those things around the window frames and doorways but he never was the one to follow rules. He quickly got to work, cleaning the mess and vacuuming the shredded plant. He grabbed the brown paper bag and then ran out to dispose of it or better yet hide it in back of the dumpster 6 floors down outside the apartment building.

Stiles ran back up the stairs not wasting any time on the crappy elevator. His mind was racing with clues and links, this girl had broken into his home, possibly in search of the Bestiary. There had been recent robberies pertaining to old books around his neighborhood, the mystery thief had to be her. Strangely he found himself hoping that the girl was still there by the time he got back. He wanted to know who she was and why she had been robbing all those books; what was she looking for? Answers. But answers for what? Secretly, he also just really wanted to see her again and that made him want to punch himself in the face.

He got into his apartment slamming the door behind him and running towards the bathroom. She was still there, sleeping, but Stiles got close just to make sure she was still breathing and alive—which she was. He was extremely fidgety by now, anxious to have some answers, nervous to know the truth and panicky to have a potential healthy werewolf with him in a few hours. He went to his room and took off his clothes grabbing fresh clean ones and putting them on. He took out clean clothes for her as well, a hoodie and sweat pants. He headed for the bathroom again, standing nervously by the doorway, biting the corners of his thumbnail as he stared down at her. He couldn't leave her on the cold bathroom floor, he thought. So he went in, rubbing his hands against his jeans, sweaty with the thought of carrying her to his bed. He bent down, but just when he was slipping his hands under her legs and behind her back, she awoke. She sat right up, but immediately regretted when she felt the sudden rush of pain, she winced and grabbed at her side. "Sorry, I was just-it's just. The floor is cold and-" she snarled at him, not because she didn't completely trust him but because he smelled of anxiety and panic and it was such an unpleasant smell.

She tried to get up, reclining on one arm, but her side still hurt too much and her legs felt too weak. Her arm gave in under her weight and before her back could hit the floor he caught her. She whipped her head to look at him, ready to growl at him again, but this time he didn't wait for an approval and slipped his other arm under her knees picking her up with such effort and unsteadiness she thought she was going to fall. She clung onto him a little too tightly and this made him smirk like an idiot. She looked at him and she wanted to wipe that half smile off of his face but her hands were too preoccupied holding onto his t-shirt for dear life so she bared her teeth at him instead, but the boy only rolled his eyes, seeming the least threatened by her. She couldn't smell that scent of panic and fear and that unsettled her and angered her. If it weren't for the fact that she wasn't healing she would have clawed this annoying boy a long time ago.

When she realized where he was taking her, she began to struggle in his arms to break free. He was heading towards the room where she had fallen weak, panic and anger flared in her eyes. She wanted to break free and run; she had never felt this vulnerable before, not even after changing back to human. She didn't even have the strength to push his arms away. He was danger, he was real danger and she had to get out. "Calm down. Not my fault you tore through a bag of wolfsbane." She looked up to him furrowing her brows in both confusion and frustration. _What was he talking about? Wolfsbane? What the hell was that? Is that what made her weak?_ Then she remembered that little bag with the violet petals and her eyes grew wide. He set her down on a bed, the one she had destroyed before he found her. It was clean now, the whole room was clean. "What kind of werewolf doesn't know about the dangers of wolfsbane," he had a mocking tone but she turned back to look at him with knitted brows as if he was the crazy one.

Stiles' eyes grew wide with realization. _What kind of...the kind that just got turned, who just got introduced into the supernatural without a proper invitation._ His thoughts flew back to Scott, and how he hadn't known the effects the little plant could have on him when he just got turned into a freaking werewolf. "Just like Scott," he let out in a small whisper. If that was true then this girl was serious trouble. He should probably run right back down for that brown paper bag. He should call Scott; he should have already called Scott a long time ago.

His eyes were growing wider by the minute, and she could hear his heartbeat accelerating. This boy was going to explode with the idea that she was some stinking wolf. "I'm not a werewolf," the girl said with much disgust, scrunching her nose as if the sound of the word itself produced a horrid stench. Stiles mouth dropped open in surprise. He was a little taken aback by her response and the fact that she had actually talked, not spoken but talked to him. "You're not?" She shook her head still scrunching her nose, eyebrows digging into the center of her forehead. If she kept on doing that she was sure to leave a mark there. "Then what-," Stiles was feeling it, he was beginning to feel that oh so horrid rise of the panic attack. He didn't want to deal with another weird lizard or panther or cheetah or some mutated mass murderer. He had left Beacon Hills hoping that all supernatural would be left behind but he knew that they were all around. Yet, it had been almost 3 years now since he found himself face to face with his worst nightmares. Plus, he was all alone here; he didn't have his pack nearby to help him out. All he had was his stinking bat.

"Hey. Hey!" He felt two strong hands clutching at the sides of his face, holding his head right up as he fought to catch his breath. "Shhh. Shut up." The bombardment of 'what ifs' in his mind subsided, and he was able to catch air again. He blinked a couple of times before his vision settled onto a pair of big brown eyes. "Are you breathing?" the girl asked, not a single hint of softness in her voice. Stiles nodded, feeling a little embarrassed now that the panic had decreased. "Don't do that again," the girl commanded, sounding a little irritated at him for having an almost heart attack. She released his face, and Stiles stupidly nodded.

She was growing frustrated; the boy seemed broken to her and extremely weak. His heartbeat was never steady; always changing pace and she figured that it couldn't be healthy. He also reeked of familiar scents which she had come to hate over the years. If it wasn't for the fact that he had helped her she would have left him when he fell on his knees gasping for air.

She sat quietly glaring at him as he tried to recompose himself. "What are you?" He finally managed to ask, and she simply shrugged her shoulders in response. "But you are something?" He persisted, feeling a little frustrated at her lack of words and effort to respond to him. She scowled at him, and if it weren't for the fact that she felt a little menacing he would think that she looked kind of cute. "I _was_ something" she said in between gritted teeth. "Was?" Stiles furrowed his brows feeling a whole lot confused at this weird creature before him. She nodded once, and then quickly replied "An animal." She stayed quiet for a moment but before Stiles could ask what kind of animal she replied, "A coyote."


End file.
